There Should Be More Kissing
by The Croc Shop
Summary: Movieverse. A series of unrelated vignettes starring Pepper Potts, Tony Stark, and everyone's favorite third wheel, Unresolved Sexual Tension.
1. Four Color Glory

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. Obviously.

Author's Notes: A few days ago I posted a request for Pepper/Tony prompts to my livejournal. Much to my delight, several people were kind enough to offer up their suggestions. I'm archiving the finished flashfics here for my own ease. (Finished flashfics are also indexed on my livejournal.)

This particular flashfic was written for Chira (lj user **halcyonjazz**), who gave me the prompt of _comic shop_ (location)_, light_ (mood)_, _and _hotrod red_ (color).

* * *

**Four Color Glory**

* * *

"Please tell me why I'm doing this," Pepper says. Her cell-phone crackles once, in counterpoint to Tony's laugh. The wall before her is an incomprehensible jumble of color and gloss, each cover brighter than the one beside it.

"Seriously," she says. "What am I even looking for?"

Tony grunts. On the far end of the line something crashes. Pepper bites her lip.

"Keep looking," he says. "I guarantee you'll know it when you see it."

"If you're busy--"

"No, no," he says, and if he's winded, the static hides his breathing well. "I'm good. Just, uh, tell me when you see it, okay?"

"See _what_, Tony? You still haven't told me--"

She sees it. There on the third shelf down, the fourth book in a row of seven, hotrod red and unmistakeable.

"Oh, my God," she says. "Is that _you_?"

"I'm flattered," Tony says.

"Tony," she says, "you're on a _comic book_."

"Mind-boggling, I know," he says. "What with this whole super hero secret identity thing."

Pepper fumbles for the inaugural issue of TONY STARK, THE INVINCIBLE IRON MAN.

"Tony," she says after one long, painful moment. "_I'm_ in the comic book."

"Yeah, well, so am I. Don't let the fame go to your head."

Pepper stares down, down, at the stylized caricature on the first page: _Pepper Potts, faithful assistant. Will Tony Stark ever return her love?_

Tony says, "Here's what I want you to do. I want you to buy three copies, one to bag--"

"I'm not buying this," she says.

"--for posterity," Tony continues with only the slightest pause to show he heard her, "one for me, and one for you. Is Rhodey in there, too? Get four copies."

Pepper looks away from the page. "Mr Stark, I'm sorry, but I'm not comfortable supporting--"

"Well," he says, "to be fair, in two hours you won't be. I had Alvarez--" He cuts off with a grunt and she can hear the sound of something sparking strongly near his phone. "I had Alvarez copyright Iron Man, and unfortunately the, uh, publisher--"

"Marvelous Entertainment?" she says.

"I wouldn't say _marvelous_--"

"Tony."

"We're suing their asses," he says. "I give it a day, tops, before they pull the series."

Pepper looks at the comic in her hand, the glossy red cover, the stylized cartoon super hero squaring off against a masked thug, the earnest bold font asking, _WHO is the IRON MAN?_ "Good," she says.

"Glad to hear it, Miss Potts," he says.

"I'm hanging up now," Pepper says, and she does.

* * *

This story was originally posted to livejournal on 05/09/2008.


	2. Sleep Hard, Sleep Deep

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. Obviously.

Author's Notes: In the interest of full disclosure (and clearing up a common misconception), There Should Be More Kissing is not a single story, but a collection of independent vignettes (which will generally be between four hundred and one thousand words each). Each "chapter" is thus a complete story in and of itself. My apologies for the confusion!

**Sleep Hard, Sleep Deep** was written for Chira (lj user **halcyonjazz**) for the given prompt of _bedroom_ (location), _typical_ (mood), and _neon blue_ (color). It is the first of three unrelated responses to her prompt and the only one to incorporate the color. (Sorry, Chira!)

* * *

**Sleep Hard, Sleep Deep**

* * *

The bedroom door is ajar, the space inside dark. The light from the hallway catches on something red on the floor; the light deflects and refracts in such a way, she thinks it must be part of his suit. Pepper balances the tray in her arms and knocks twice, counts out thirty seconds under her breath in a quick, lilting song (one-one thousand, two-one thousand), then nudges the door with her hip. It swings open without complaint and Pepper steps into the black.

"Screens down," she says.

As the windows brighten, the tinted mask dissipating and the soft, bright blue of the ocean filling the view, Jarvis says, "Good morning, Miss Potts," as though they had not spoken in the hallway five minutes before.

Pepper smiles. "Good morning, Jarvis."

The sunlight reveals what the dark concealed: the detritus of the night before, littered across the floor. His dinner jacket hangs off the dresser. A tie drips from the arm of a chair, pooling into several folds of checkered silk on the seat. His armor lies in pieces on the stone floor, shed in a haphazard line that weaves from the door to the bed. Pepper steps around a glove, both legs, and the torso as she picks her way across the room. The torso is cracked, the red shell split beneath the ribs, parted to reveal a tangle of wires and bruised metal. The mask stares at her from its seat of honor near the door.

Tony stirs once. His hand flops, then slides across the sheets. He mumbles something. Groans.

Pepper sets the tray down on the bedside table. Tony rests on top of the sheets, his face buried in a nest of pillows. His jaw is slack, his back exposed. The expanse of skin along his left side is dark, mottled with the rising red of new bruises. She ghosts her fingers across the hollow beneath his ribs, above his hip, where the red is deepest.

"_Mmm_-wow," Tony says. "Careful with those hands, Miss Potts."

Pepper snatches her hand back to her chest. Her fingers curl at her throat. She says, "Mr Stark--"

Tony rolls over or tries to, but as he shifts his weight to his left hip a muscle in his jaw spasms; his entire body clenches. "Oh," he says, in a voice rough with pain and sleep. "Yeah. Ow."

"Tony, your back--"

He waves her off. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't _look_ like--"

"Well, it is. Nothing. It's nothing. Just very - very painful." Tony sucks in a breath and sits up. The muscles in his abdomen flutter and spasm, and when he exhales, he groans.

"Tony," Pepper says, trying to be calm, trying not to immediately accuse him of being reckless and foolhardy and, and _silly_, what was he thinking just going to bed like this--

"I know what you're going to say," he says before she can say anything at all. "So I'm going to stop you right there. I had--" He grunts. "--Jarvis monitor me. If anything was broken or punctured, he'd tell me, and as he has yet to do so I am forced to conclude that I am, in fact, perfectly fine."

Tony smiles up at her with something very near to grace. The effect is ruined somewhat by the muscle ticking at his jaw.

Pepper bites off her first retort. Instead she says, "I can see," and resorts to fluffing one of the pillows. Tony leans forward with aching slowness, grimacing as she slides the pillow behind his back. "Would you like some ice, Mr Stark?" she says, painfully polite.

"Yes, please, Miss Potts," he says. He settles back on the pillow and sighs once, the breath rising up as though from his gut. His eyes flutter shut. "And a Long Island Iced Tea, if you'd be so kind."

"I'm afraid we're all out," she says. "You'll have to make do with orange juice." Pepper _tings_ her fingernail against the glass on the tray.

Tony rolls his shoulder and tips his head to one side. "Breakfast in bed," he says. "Special day. What's the occasion? It's not Mother's Day, is it?"

"_You_ have a meeting with the board of directors at noon," she tells him.

He sips at the juice. "Mm. And what time is it now?"

"Eleven-thirty," she says, very sweetly.

Tony gags.

Pepper straightens the pillow at his back. "I'll have Happy pull the car around front."

"See that you do, Miss Potts."

Pepper bites down her smile. When she leaves, she leaves the door open: on Tony, on the suit, on the bright, bright blue of the ocean.

"Ice, Jarvis," she says, and when at last she arrives the ice is waiting for her in the alcove inside the fridge.

* * *

This story was first posted to livejournal on 05/09/2008.


	3. Please Remember to Knock, Miss Potts

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Please Remember to Knock, Miss Potts** was written for Chira (lj user **halcyonjazz**) for the given prompt of _bedroom_ (location), _typical_ (mood), and _neon blue_ (color). The original conceit was (and remains) hers.

* * *

**Please Remember to Knock, Miss Potts**

* * *

"Miss Potts," Tony says, "please remember to knock before coming into my room."

"Oh," she says, flattening the folder against her chest. "Yes. I'm sorry, Mr Stark. I didn't realize you were--" Don't say it, don't say it. "--busy."

Tony makes a noise that might be a laugh, might be a grunt, might be both. The woman he has pinned against his bedroom wall says, "To-_ny_," in a plaintive hiss. "Who _is_ she?"

Pepper stares at the wall above his head. It is, she thinks, a very attractive wall as walls go. Evenly painted. Sturdy. Oh, my God, _sturdy_? She curls her toes and tries not to panic. She thinks: Can he see my face? Why didn't he lock the door? Does he even know her _name_?

"Miss Potts," Tony says. "Do you need something?"

"Um," she says. Pepper thinks he probably picked her up at one of the casinos. Pepper thinks he probably made her feel beautiful and special and different from all the other girls he's brought home for the night, and Pepper thinks he won't even ask her to escort the girl out in the morning, but she'll do it anyway.

Tony shifts his weight. From the corner of her eye Pepper sees him slide his hand down the woman's thigh. She sees him draw the woman's long, smooth leg up against his hip, sees him stabilize his weight with her own.

Pepper thinks, Oh, fuck it. Pepper says, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Your lawyer needs to speak with you about the statements published in the Washington Post on Friday--"

"--grossly overstated," Tony is saying. "He's blowing it way, way out of proportion--"

"--Vanity Fair wants to know if you're still interested in doing the spread for the May issue--"

"As soon as I'm done here, I'll look at my schedule."

"You said that yesterday," Pepper says, rapping her fingernails against the folder, "and you still haven't--"

"--and I'm saying it now - make a note - so please, don't rush me."

"I need a yes or no on the invite to the Secret Policeman's Ball--"

"Yes," Tony says. "Yes? Yes. Is that everything?"

"Not everything," says Pepper.

"Well, it'll have to wait," he says. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

The woman laughs and Pepper looks without really meaning to, just long enough to see Tony press his lips to her throat, mouth open, teeth scraping her skin. Pepper turns away.

Tony leans up, kissing the woman's chin, her jaw. "Did you need something else, Miss Potts?"

"No, Mr Stark," Pepper says. "That was all."

"Good night, Miss Potts."

"Good night, Mr Stark."

Pepper makes sure the door is locked when she pulls it shut behind her, and if she walks a little faster on the way to her car than she did the night before, she tells herself it's because of the cold.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/10/2008.


	4. Metal

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Metal** was written for Chira (lj user **halcyonjazz**) for the given prompt of _bedroom_ (location), _typical_ (mood), and _neon blue _(color).

* * *

**Metal**

* * *

Tony smells of: scotch and vodka, cigarette smoke, sex. The top button of his shirt is out and the next two are misaligned, the second in the third loop and the third against his chest. Pepper doesn't ask.

Pepper: turns down the bedsheets and turns up the window screens. Finds and sets out his favorite pair of lounging shorts. Brings him a glass of water and two aspirin cradled in her palm. Feeds him the aspirin and holds the glass for him to drink, and doesn't comment, doesn't ask, when he takes the glass from her and smashes it on the floor.

Tony stands out of the chair with a certain degree of drunken grace. Strips off his shirt or tries to; his fingers fumble on the buttons. Pepper slips her hands beneath his and picks the buttons out one by one, then turns as he turns to peel the shirt from his back. This close to his skin she can smell: ash, exhaust, the thick, sour tang of sweat and dirt underlying the sharper smells of sex and drink. Her fingers brush his nape.

In the dark she can no longer see: the fading bruises, the row of stitches that curves along his spine, the burns on his shoulders from the suit. She doesn't need light to know them. Pepper says: "I've rescheduled your interview with GQ for Thursday and I've moved the press conference to the afternoon. Jarvis has reset your alarm for ten; if you need him to wake you any earlier, just ask."

Tony says: "Thank you, Miss Potts." He tosses his pants aside. The muscles low in his back are tight, visibly tense even in the shadows of his room.

Pepper folds his shirt over her arm. "Will you be needing anything else, Mr Stark?"

They are still close enough for her to smell the sweat on his back, the grime on his shoulders, the sex smells at his throat, the scotch on his breath. Close enough for Tony to reach for her and cup her cheek in his hand. Pass his thumb across the slight swell of her upper lip, curl his finger down her cheek. He is very close to her and very warm, and when he reaches for her with his other hand, she steps away. One step. Two.

Tony's hand drops to his side. He says: "That will be all, Miss Potts."

Pepper: closes the door gently behind her. Deposits his shirt in the nearest laundry chute. Asks Jarvis to alert her if Tony tries to leave or breaks something sharp or finds something else to drink in his room. Asks him to ready a pot of coffee for her.

The house is dark; the lights are dim; the night before her, long. Pepper sets up her laptop on the low glass table in the living room. She smells faintly of smoke and sweat and scotch and Tony, and when she breathes him in, she thinks she can smell the sharp, cold scent of metal underneath it all.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/11/2008.


	5. Extra Dry

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: Stressing this again: **There Should Be More Kissing** is not a single, continuous work, but a collection of unrelated vignettes. Each "chapter" is thus a complete story in and of itself, with no relation to any of the "chapters" preceding or following it. My apologies for any lingering confusion.

**Extra Dry** was written for lj user **dafnap **for the given prompt of _Governor's Ball_ (location), _resigned_ (mood), and _peach_ (color).

* * *

**Extra Dry**

* * *

Pepper wears her hair in a casual French twist, a soft mound of brass and gold tucked inside itself. Her dress is dark and cut conservatively, but the back of it slackens as she laughs. The freckles scattered across her shoulder blades flash into view - long, drifting swirls that drip down her spine - then slip away again beneath the dark chiffon of her dress.

Tony glides through a crowd of low-tier actors gathered near the largest of the buffet tables, pausing only to share a smile with a truly stunning blonde: sharp chin, sharper cheekbones, long black lashes framing eyes nearly as blue as Pepper's. If she isn't an actress, she wants to be one; if she isn't a star, she will be. He leans in as he slips by her, says, "Keep up the good work," into that long stream of white blonde hair. Three more steps and he's forgotten her face.

Pepper is adjusting her sleeve when he passes his arm around her. "Vodka martini," he says, and she jumps, hand flying to her throat. Her hair brushes his nose and sweeps across his cheek, a soft tickling that passes as quickly as she steps back.

"Tony," she says. She touches her hair. Tucks a loose strand behind her ear.

He relaxes his arm. "Enjoying the party, Miss Potts?"

"Yes, actually--oh, sorry, okay. Thank you." She takes the martini glass, her fingers smearing the condensation across the smudges he left with his own fingers.

He taps his glass against hers. "Cheers."

"Cheers," she says.

Tony downs a good third of his glass, turning to look over the room. The blonde by the buffet table wiggles her fingers at him. He takes another sip.

"So," Pepper is saying, "I thought you were talking with Miss Everhart?"

He turns back to Pepper, shifting his weight just so. Their shoulders nearly touch. "I was," he says. "I did. Extra dry, right?"

She blinks at him.

Tony lifts his martini, taps his finger against her glass. "Vodka martini. Extra dry, right?"

Her face clears; her eyes narrow. Her smile is just shy of wry. "Extra dry, yes."

"I wasn't sure how many olives. Two? Three? Two sounds about right. It's a good middle number."

"I don't really feel like olives at the moment," she says. "But thank you, Mr Stark."

"You're sure?"

"Oh, very," she says.

The lights catch on her earrings, striking deep pools in the long sapphire drops, bluer even than her eyes. She leans in close, her lips pursing as she smiles, the freckles on her cheeks bunching as her nose wrinkles. She smells very faintly of peaches. Tony wants very much to tuck his fingers behind her ear, to draw out that long wispy strand of hair curling just around the lobe.

"Don't look now," she says, "but I think you have a secret admirer."

Tony follows her gaze to the blonde.

Pepper presses her martini into his open hand. She says, "Have a good evening, Mr Stark."

He watches her as she picks her way across the floor, passing through a loose, laughing circle of shining women, and when at last he can no longer spot her hair, red as a flower, bright as a promise, he downs the rest of his martini and all of hers, then turns back to the buffet table and the sharp-faced blonde with the dull blue eyes.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/10/2008.


	6. Across the Floor

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Across the Floor** was written for lj user **dragonsquee** for the given prompt of _dance hall _(location), _content_ (mood), and _warm orange_ (color).

* * *

**Across the Floor**

* * *

Tony crashes into the chair beside her. For a titan of industry, he has exceptionally poor posture.

"What's a gal like you doing at a dig like this?" he says. "The buffet table is no place for a lady."

Pepper tries to think of a way to discreetly clean the barbecue sauce from her fingers. She fails: her fingers stick to the cloth napkin. "I'm letting my feet rest," she says, with as much dignity as she can muster.

"That sounds unlikely. No one asking you to dance? C'mon, Pep, get proactive. Go out there and find yourself a man."

"Unlike some people, I wear heels."

"I don't like your tone, Potts. Maybe I wear heels. Little strappy ones, with high arches."

Pepper lifts one well manicured eyebrow.

"Probably not," he admits. Tony taps his square fingertips against his thigh, watching as she peels the napkin from her own long, pale fingers. "Dance with me," he says.

She fumbles the napkin; it sticks to her thumb. "Oh, no--"

Tony leans forward. "Just one dance, that's it, you and me around the floor."

"I really don't think--"

He catches her wrist in his hand. The napkin crumples under his fingers, so he plucks it from her hand and drops it on her plate where it cloaks the half-finished piece of chicken and the salad she has yet to start. "On your feet, Potts, chop chop."

"I'm not even wearing my shoes!" she says, but by then it's too late. Tony's hand is at the small of her back; her sauce-stained fingers are entwined with his. The long folds of her dress slide down her shins, obscuring her feet but not her toes in a flood of dark orange. The music at least is at odds with Tony's sudden burst of whimsy: slow, graceful, with long, still notes like drops of water. The polished floor is cool beneath her feet. She wriggles her toes experimentally.

Tony draws her nearer, leans in close to speak into her ear. "You're tense."

"I hate when you do this," she says.

"Hate's a strong word."

"Strong," she says, "but fair."

Tony guides her into a spin, his hand sliding from the drooping chiffon at the base of her spine, falling away. "How often do devilishly handsome, brilliant men sweep you off your feet?"

When she returns to him, Pepper catches his arm with her hand. The distance between them is sudden. "You forgot humble."

Tony traces her hip with his thumb. "Did I mention I'm a super hero?"

"Oh, are you? I hadn't heard."

"Part time. But very profitable."

"It must be very rewarding."

"Oh, it is. On a spiritual level. Intellectual level. I like to think I'm a better person for it."

He is, she realizes, easing back into her personal space with each step they take, slipping half an inch closer, then another. His hand slides up her back.

Pepper steps sharply to the left, her right arm swinging low, brushing across his chest. Tony recovers well, slipping his hand down to cup her hip as she steps forward; he mirrors each step she takes with a grace that suggests forethought.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to shake me off, Miss Potts."

Pepper tips her head to one side. Her earring slides across her throat. "And why would you say that?"

"A hunch," he says.

"Is that one of your superpowers?"

He draws near once more. "You misunderstand. I'm more the roguish, enigmatic inventor type. Think Batman, not Superman."

"Then you must be very rich."

"Wildly."

"And I'd bet you're something of a playboy, too."

"I've been called that, yeah."

"And I'm sure there are many women who find that attractive."

"A few."

The floor sticks to her feet as they dance, just enough to slow her down, keep her movements careful.

He says, "Right now, though, there's just one I'm looking at."

"Is that so?" Pepper says.

"Oh, yeah. She's great. Smart, capable. Trustworthy. Wildly attractive."

"Well. I hope she hasn't heard of your reputation. For your sake, Mr Stark," she adds.

They spin once, Tony's fingers like five branding points on the small of her back. "Ouch," he says.

"I think that's enough dancing," says Pepper.

"I agree," says Tony, releasing her hand. "Drink?"

"I'm a little hungry, actually," she says, rubbing her fingers together in recollection of the sauce.

Tony extends his arm. "Lead the way, Potts."

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/12/2008.


	7. Don't Wait On Me

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Don't Wait On Me** was written for Chira (lj user **halcyonjazz**) for the given prompt of _strip club_ (location), _urgent_ (mood), and _cotton pink_ (color).

* * *

**Don't Wait On Me**

* * *

Pepper excused herself from the room with a polite smile for the reporters and a grimace for David Lawson, acting representative for the Board of Directors. Lawson shot her the look of a desperate man prepared to perform desperate deeds in order to survive; to his credit, he did not once falter in his presentation. Pepper lobbed a prayer in his name heavenward and made good her escape.

The custodial hallway was empty as she had hoped it would be, bare of decoration and any sign of life. Pepper tugged the door shut behind her, then flipped her cell phone open. God, she hoped she could get reception. The display blinked at her for nine agonizing seconds, then at last cleared, lighting up in her hand. One bar; better than nothing. Pepper punched the _1_ and held her breath. The line rang once, twice, a third time, then - oh, thank God - the line picked up and Tony said: "Yes? Hello? Hurry it up, Potts; I'm busy."

"Where _are_ you?" she said. "I've been trying to get through to you for an hour."

"Private function," he said. "I'm closing a business deal. Any particular reason why you're so anxious to hear my voice? Aside from the obvious."

"You," she told him, "are late. Very, very, incredibly, insanely, unbelievably late."

"Please don't make me say it; it's too easy; I'll never live it down. For a very important date? Oh, damn."

"It is--" Pepper checked her watch. "Six-thirty. You were supposed to be here at a quarter to six."

"Pepper, as much as I love these games of ours, I have to say I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The press conference, Tony!" Pepper covered her mouth, instinctively turning to check over her shoulder. The closed door stared at her. She lowered her hand. "You were supposed to be here at five forty-five," she said. "Lawson's been stalling for time. Where are you?" She pressed a finger to her free ear and squinted. "Is that _disco_?"

"That, Miss Potts, is the sound of a mutually satisfactory business arrangement. I told you, it's a private function. A meet-and-greet, just me and a few of the guys."

"What guys?"

"Oh, you know. The guys. The press conference is today?"

Pepper pinched her nose. "Yes, Tony, the press conference is today. The press conference is _right now_."

"Really?" Tony sounded genuinely surprised. Pepper had long since learned that didn't mean anything. "The press conference is _today_. I don't ... seem to have it on my schedule."

"Mm-hmm," said Pepper. "I did remind you this morning--"

"That's strange, I don't remember--"

"I left you a voicemail after your meeting with advertising--"

"Didn't get it. Hey, listen," he said, as Pepper took one deep, calming breath, "let me finish up here and I'll head over."

"You need to be here right now--"

"Yes, yes, I know. Look, I'll see you in ten, all right?"

Pepper shifted the phone away from her mouth and exhaled loudly, the breath rising up from the very center of her chest. "Ten minutes, Tony, and that's it. We can't stall them for much longer."

"Relax. Grabbing my bags as we speak. Quick question, scientific curiosity - what're you wearing?"

"Good-bye, Tony," she said.

"Mm, my favorite," he said.

Pepper closed her phone. She took a moment to compose herself, tucking her hair back into place, smoothing her skirt, rolling her shoulders until the tension flowed out of her spine; and when she felt certain she could once more face the crowd, Pepper opened the door and slipped back on to the stage. Catching Lawson's eye, she flashed him a thumbs-up, then two open hands: OK, 10.

Gratitude swept over Lawson's face like rain across the desert. He turned back to the reporters a man transformed, no longer desperate, but serene, absolved of all strife.

"I've just been informed that Mr Stark will be here shortly," he said, "and I would like to thank you on his behalf for being so patient."

* * *

Tony parked his Rolls Royce alongside the curb at precisely 7:14. Pepper fell in beside him, pushing a stack of notecards into his open hand.

"You," she said, "are so very late. They're going to eat you alive."

"The price of fame," he said, flipping through the cards. "Did you write this? It's very good."

"Never mind who wrote it," she said, pushing the door to the hotel open for him. "You said you'd be here in ten minutes."

Tony tucked his sunglasses into his breast pocket. "I had to change," he said.

"Oh, well, that explains it," said Pepper. She hooked a finger in his sleeve, drawing him to a standstill.

"Yes? I'm here; let's go."

Pepper licked her thumb and swept the wet pad across his jawline, gently wiping away the faint, but awfully bright trace of pink lipstick left near his ear.

"How did that get there?" said Tony.

"Move," she said, pushing his shoulders, "or they'll eat me, too."

"Did I mention I love your dress? Very schoolmarm. I'm having flashbacks. Not that that's a bad thing."

"_Go_," she said.

"Going," said Tony.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/14/2008.


	8. Give Us a Hand o'Thine

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Give Us a Hand o'Thine** was written for lj user **jamaillith** for the given prompt of _balcony_ (location), _fireworks_ (sensation), and _Pepper's dress_ (color). This is in reference to a Vanity Fair photoshoot casting today's celebrities as characters from the filmography of Alfred Hitchcock. You can check out the relevant spread by c&ping this url: http / pics. livejournal. com/ mekosuchinae/ pic/ 000c49kx/. (Take out the spaces.)

**Give Us a Hand o'Thine** is a futurefic, meaning it is set several years after the events of the film. The title is taken from a very famous poem by an equally famous poet: **Auld Lang Syne** by Robert Burns. I thought it fitting.

* * *

**Give Us a Hand o'Thine**

* * *

The study is cold and little wonder as to why, for the great doors that open on the balcony are spread as if in welcome and the wind outside is steady if not strong. Tony sits at the wrought iron table situated on the balcony proper, his back to the study and his face turned from the breeze. This is the last place she thought to look, so of course this is where he is, hiding from his own party in the refuge of the cold. Pepper hitches her shawl tight across her shoulders and crosses the study; the carpet swallows her footsteps.

The broad line of Tony's back is curved, nearly relaxed. His head is bowed - over a book, she sees as she draws closer. Her heels click on the stone balcony and the sound to her is sudden and sharp, but Tony does not start. "Found me," he says.

"I didn't expect to find you reading," she says. She slides into the iron chair beside his, pulling her shawl tight again.

"I think you'll find I'm a man of many talents."

The light outside is dim, the moon obscured by gathering clouds and the electric pollution of the coastline, the balcony light at only a fraction of its operating capacity. "It's a little dark, don't you think?"

Tony looks up then. "I'm wearing my glasses, Mother," he says, and he is: thin gold-wire spectacles, his one willing and private concession to age. The black of his hair is fading again near his temples, but she won't tell.

"Rhodes is downstairs giving a toast--"

"Thanks for the warning."

"Not exactly," Pepper says. "It's for you."

Tony makes a face like a cartoon.

"I don't think he'll notice," she says. "He's had a little too much to drink."

"Define 'a little.'"

"'A lot.'"

"That's a lot," says Tony. "I'm sorry I missed it. Someone's taping it, right? Please tell me someone's taping it. Jarvis?"

Pepper laughs. "I'll ask around."

The wind changes, sweeping from below, and with it come the sounds of the party, muted and distant, as though through a fog: soft laughter, tinkling glass, the small orchestra slowing to a waltz.

"I'd ask you to dance," Tony says, "but my knees froze about an hour ago."

"Silly old man," Pepper says. "There's blankets inside." She pats his knee.

Tony shifts his leg away from her hand. "I don't need your sympathy, Miss Potts."

"Oh, of course you don't, sir. What you need is to go inside where it's warm and bright."

"Nag, nag, nag," says Tony. He tips his head back against the chair, and eyes her through his glasses. Pepper catalogues, as she always does, the minute changes and the constants: the new line on his brow, the deepening crow's feet, the persisting toughness of his chin, the brown of his eyes. She wonders what he sees in her face. The changes, the constants. The wind shifts again, taking with it the music.

"I've always liked that dress," he says. "All your dresses are pretty good, but this one - I like this one."

"Well, thank you," she says, lifting the folds of her skirt as though to curtsy. "I thought it looked pretty good myself."

Tony grins, flashing his teeth. With his glasses and his beard he looks like nothing so much as a demented scholar. "You look pretty good yourself, old woman."

A sharp crack draws their attention. From the shore near the house a firecracker spits into the sky, shrieking and climbing, then bursting into a spray of red. Two more are quick to follow, splashing the night sky with an electric blue, then a burst of white.

"New Year's already?" says Tony.

"Looks like."

Tony traces the arc of each firecracker, his book forgotten. His glasses reflect the colors that bathe his face: blue, green, a shocking yellow. Red. Gold.

Pepper reaches for him. His palm is rough beneath hers, the skin lined with work and war and slow, creeping age; his ring finger stiff where it never really healed straight. His hand is worn, and strong, and good. Tony turns to her, his knee brushing hers, then coming to rest against her thigh.

"Happy new year, Tony," she says.

Tony's smile is like a gift. He lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses the soft groove between two knuckles, lingering there before moving on to the next groove. His beard scratches, but his touch is soft, and in his grip her hand is warm.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/13/2008.


	9. Thirst

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Thirst** was written for lj user **jamaillith** for the given prompt of _balcony_ (location), _fireworks_ (sensation), and_ Pepper's dress_ (color). See the author's notes for the preceding story (**Give Us a Hand o'Thine**) for additional information re: the prompt.

* * *

**Thirst**

* * *

The night is chill, but not uncomfortably so; the blast of cool air on his face is a relief. Pepper rests with her arms folded upon the railing, just within the circle of light that falls at his heels as he steps on to the balcony. Her hair is pulled high; her shoulders are bare; her legs are a faint and curving silhouette obscured by the folds of her gown. Tony scuffs his heels as he draws near and the ice in his glass clinks against the sides, soft as a bell, clear as a warning. Pepper tips her head just so, peering over her shoulder; and at his approach, she smiles.

Tony rests his weight against the cement railing. "Hiding, Potts?"

"Getting some air," she says, "but close."

"Out here, alone, in the dark? Seems dangerous."

"Might be," she says. "But I didn't want to miss the fireworks."

Tony follows her gaze. Small rockets rise from the shoreline, splashing the sky, lighting the sea. Pepper's hair shines nearly as brightly.

"I love them," she says, as though through a dream. She tips her face to the sky. "The fireworks, I mean."

Tony watches the light play across her throat. "Yeah," he says. "They're nice."

Pepper turns to meet his eyes, her eyebrows arched, the corners of her mouth twitching up. Tony takes a large mouthful of his scotch and studies the light on the waves.

"'Nice'?" she says.

He widens his eyes over the glass. Swallows. "Sorry - what's that? I missed it."

Pepper shakes her finger at him. "I'm on to you, mister."

"I hope not," says Tony.

Pepper smiles. A firework cracks, spilling blue across the night sky, and the color is echoed on the pale skin of her face, the long, slow slope of her throat, the white chiffon of her bodice.

He is suddenly, acutely thirsty. Tony tips his scotch back, draining the glass dry.

"What're you staring at?" Pepper says. Her voice is soft, her tone amused; she suspects, but does not know.

"The fireworks," he says, quite easily. He blinks to clear his eyes.

"I hear they're very nice," she says as though in confidence.

The swell of her lip is hard to mistake, the curve of her shoulders more so. In the strained pool of light she is beautiful and strange, an indeterminable quantity at once achingly familiar and unknown to him. As ever, when faced with the unknown he wishes to know. The corner of her mouth that tilts slightly down when she thinks. The hard line of her collarbone. Her shoulders: left, then right. The freckle on her ear. The tiny scar on the inside of her thumb.

He lifts his glass, then hesitates at the sound of ice striking ice striking glass. There is nothing more to drink.

Pepper smiles still, her face turned to him, her hands folded before her, awaiting the rejoinder that does not come. Another rocket splits in the sky, washing her face with a sudden brightness.

Tony sets his glass aside.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/14/2008.


	10. Sharing is Caring

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Sharing is Caring** was written for lj user **shaney** for the given prompt of _Tony's living room_ (location), _quiet yet playful_ (mood), and _red_ (color).

* * *

**Sharing is Caring**

* * *

Tony took the stairs as he did most evenings: two at a time, his heels cracking against the wood. Pepper glanced at him over her laptop, taking him in as he crossed the floor: sweats wrinkled at his ankles, grease spattered across his shirt and along his right wrist, the arc reactor shining above his heart.

He wrinkled his nose as he approached the long, lean leather couch. "Something smells good. Have you been cooking?" Too late Pepper remembered her untouched chicken fettucini, perched in the seat of honor upon the otherwise spotless coffee table. Naturally Tony zeroed in on it with a sudden and surprising intensity.

"When did you last eat?" Pepper said.

"Lunch," said Tony. "No, this morning. Chinese, reheated, please don't lecture me."

Pepper lifted her chin. "I didn't intend to."

"Right, uh-huh. You're a terrible liar, you know. I can see it in your eyes. The welling disdain. Is this Italian?"

He rounded the coffee table and before she could stop him - while she reassured herself with the knowledge that of _course_ Mr Stark would not dare steal her dinner - he grabbed the fork where it rested lengthwise across the bowl and stabbed it deep into the pasta.

"Tony!"

He paused, fork already in his mouth, one long strand of pasta dripping on his chin.

"That was my _dinner_," she said.

Tony collapsed on the leather cushion beside her, his knee bumping the table, then coming to rest on her thigh. He wiped at his beard with his thumb. "Sharing is caring, Miss Potts," he said at last. "It's the golden rule."

Pepper nudged his leg aside, succeeding only in giving him cause to settle deeper into the couch. "'Sharing is caring' is not the golden rule."

"It's not? Strange. See, I could've sworn..."

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," she said quite primly.

Tony chewed, mulling this thought over. "Twain?"

"The golden rule."

"Well, that settles it, then." He sliced off a thin wedge of chicken with the long edge of the fork, then carefully nicked it between two fingers. "Next time we go out, you get first dibs on my plate. Pinky swear." And with great gravity, he lifted his hand and stuck out his pinky.

Pepper eyed him for one long moment. The fork in his hand, the spot of sauce hidden in his goatee near the corner of his mouth. The line of grease on his throat. The swollen circles under his eyes. She sighed. "Fine," she said, and she hooked her pinky with his. They shook twice, then released. "But you owe me dinner," she added.

"Pizza's in the fridge," he said around a mouthful of chicken.

Pepper wrinkled her nose. "I think not."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"I will," she said, with dignity.

Tony finished the chicken breast and most of the pasta in seven large bites, half as many as Pepper would have required. Pulling his collar high, he cleaned his mouth and jaw of sauce, but left a faint trace of grease across his nose. "Can't beat home cooking," he said. He clapped his hands on his thighs and went to stand, his leg pushing against hers, then sliding away once more.

"Oh, just a moment--"

He turned to her and Pepper took advantage of the moment to rub her fingertip across his nose. Tony blinked at her down the thick line of his nose, over the splayed ridge of her fingers.

"There," she said.

"Thank you, Pepper," he said, quite seriously. "Where would I be without your gentle touch?"

"Not eating my chicken," she said, just as seriously.

"Let it go, Potts!"

Pepper called after him: "You have a meeting at nine, so please at least try to be in bed before four!"

Tony flashed her his open hand in salute, then descended the stairs with the same casual grace he displayed in ascension: two at a time, heels thumping hard on the wood in a quick and recognizable rhythm.

In his absence, Pepper stared into the empty bowl: the few bedraggled strips of pasta lining the sides, the bit of tomato floating in the sauce. Oh, well, she thought. I'll just have to get him back at some place fancy. The room was quiet, her leg cold. Pepper turned back to her laptop.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/15/2008.


	11. Might Hurt

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **Might Hurt** was written for lj user **jezunya** for the given prompt of _the lab/basement_ (location), _scared_ (mood), and _red_ (color).

* * *

**Might Hurt**

* * *

Pepper is sitting on the couch with her bare feet curled up beneath her, her laptop forgotten on the coffee table and the remote control in her left hand when she hears the high, metallic hum of the rooftop doors sliding open. A moment later her cell-phone springs to life. Pepper flips the screen out - _The Boss_, it says over a gleaming headshot of Tony, sunglasses propped up in his hair - and presses her phone to her ear. "Tony?"

"Hi, yeah, it's me. I thought I saw your car." His voice is strained. "I need you to come down, say, right now, if it's not too much trouble."

Pepper is uncurling her legs. Pepper is standing on the cool tiles. Pepper is on her way, her stride limited only by the binding of her skirt. "Tony, what's wrong--"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm fine, I just have a ... thing."

"What does that mean, 'thing'?"

"Nothing; it doesn't mean anything." He grunts. "_Gently_, Jarvis, let's not break anything we can't replace. Like me. I'm hanging up now. See you in a, oh, you're here."

The lab door seals behind her; the soft hiss of the vacuum is lost in the whirring mechanical sounds of the de-assembly line as the long arms tuck the suit away. Pepper lowers her phone.

Tony steps out of the feet. He says, "Don't panic. It's not as bad as it looks."

Pepper can imagine a thousand ways in which it could be worse. She has, on occasion, imagined more. The undersuit is stained and torn, speckled with metal and blood all across his shoulders. Along his spine. The base of his neck.

"Okay," he says, "so you're panicking."

"I'm not panicking." She isn't.

"Good, because there's nothing to panic about."

"Well done, sir," murmurs Jarvis.

Pepper points to the swivel chair nearest to Tony. She says, "Sit. Now."

Tony sits and picks at his neckline, tugs on the zipper. As Pepper makes her way to 

the kitchenette in the corner, she hears the soft rasp of the zipper parting beneath his hand; she hears his grunt as he peels the suit from his back, the quiet, wet sound of fabric separating from skin and blood. She doesn't look back.

"Oh, my," says Jarvis, "that does look painful."

"Funny how that works," says Tony, his voice rough.

Pepper finds: tweezers. Rubbing alcohol. Antibiotic ointment, gauze. A box of cotton balls. She turns the water on and holds her fingers under the stream until the water runs hot down her wrist. She sticks the tweezers under the faucet. Breathes in the steam.

"What happened?" she says.

"Rogue automaton," he says, stripping the suit from his arms. He sucks in a breath, then releases it in one long, deep, bone-weary gush of hot air. "Siberia. Smashed in the back of the suit. I had to -- dig my way out of the snow."

"I do insist on some credit, sir."

"Yeah, Jarvis helped."

Pepper twists the water off. "How bad is it? Jarvis?"

"Bleeding is minimal; the lacerations are superficial. The suit suffered far more than Mr Stark. There _are_ a few pieces of metal lodged in the epidermis, but I doubt they will prove difficult to extract. Stitches may be required."

"Stitches will _not_ be required," says Tony.

"We'll see about that," says Pepper. She bears a laden metal tray in her arms. "Show me your back."

Tony turns obligingly, swinging the chair into a brief, slow spin. The undersuit hangs around his waist, the arms trailing from the chair, the chest split wide at his hips. His back is broad, the muscles as thick across his shoulders as they are across his ribs. There is, somehow, more blood than she expected and less; the vast majority of the cuts are shallow and not much longer than her thumbnail. A line of deeper gashes trails along his spine, coming to rest at the bony knob at the base of his neck.

Very gently Pepper rests her fingertips on either side of his spine. Her thumb coasts along his shoulder blade, sliding through a sticky residue of sweat and blood and grime. The muscles beneath her hand flutter compulsively.

"Costs extra to touch," he says.

Pepper makes a face at the back of his head.

"_Very_ mature," says Jarvis.

"Did you stick your tongue out at me? You stuck your tongue out at me."

"I did no such thing," she says. She rubs her thumb along his shoulder blade and lifts the tweezers in her other hand. The metal joint rests against her palm.

"That's hilarious," says Tony. "Making fun of an injured hero. You're a classy woman, Potts."

"Don't move," says Pepper. "This might hurt."

"Be gentle. I'm fragile."

"I'll do my best," she tells him, and then she slips the tweezers under his skin. The muscles beneath her hand convulse, then draw tight, steadily tensing as she picks at the piece of metal sandwiched within the epidermis. His throat tightens; the tendons stand out.

Pepper deposits the bloody chunk of metal on the tray.

"Nngh," he says. "That's ... one down. And how many to go?"

She counts the flecks of metal under her breath, tracing the pattern etched into his skin. "Twelve," she says.

"My lucky number."

"You know," Pepper says, sliding the tweezers into the next red gash - Tony's shoulders quiver - "the hospital would use an anesthetic."

"Mm. Point. Remind me to - _nngh_ - stock up on that."

She sets the second piece alongside its brother. "You could just go to the hospital."

"Not an option."

Pepper doesn't sigh. She merely exhales very loudly. "And why is that?"

"Can you blame me for not wanting to be on the front page of every newspaper in the country?" He bows his head. The short, dark hairs on his neck bristle. "'Iron Man seeks emergency care at area hospital,'" he recites into his chest. "'Iron Man checks into trauma ward; details unknown. Iron Man pregnant with Skrull super baby. Could this be the end for Iron Man?' Stock drops twenty points. Every investigative reporter with half a brain is calling _you_ for an interview. Worst case scenario, I get a staph infection and lose my good looks. Or die."

Third piece. "Point," she says. Fourth.

"Knew you'd see it my way," he says.

Fifth. This close he smells overpoweringly of sweat, blood, dirt, exhaust, ash and metal. His hair is soaked with it; the fingers of her left hand have dried to his back. She picks out the sixth fragment and sets it aside. The long expanse of his back curves beneath her, the skin splattered and streaked in shades of red and black, bruises slowly rising where the buckled suit did not break his skin. A seventh fragment joins the six.

Pepper gives in to temptation and brushes the hairs on his neck. Curves her hand around his nape and holds him as he breathes. Smoothes his hair. The muscles in his neck work beneath her fingers, tensing, relaxing, tensing again. Relaxing. Relaxed.

"Almost done," she says.

She drops the eighth fragment on the tray.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/16/2008.


	12. I Wonder, I Wonder

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: This story was written for lj user **jezunya** for the given prompt of _living room_ (location), _sleepy_ (sensation), and _brown_ (color).

* * *

**I Wonder, I Wonder**

* * *

The lights are low, the sun long gone, and Pepper dozes on the long, leather sofa. Tony pauses at the end of the hallway, towel over his shoulder, hair dripping water down his nape as he leans against the wall, tips his head - studies her.

Her stockinged feet are crossed at the ankle, propped on the coffee table; her skirt drips from her legs to the floor. In the soft, dusky light her hair is a shade darker than he is accustomed to: the orange closer to red, the red closer to brown. Her fingers are loose on the keys of her laptop (perched on her thigh, but sliding gradually to rest on the cushion. This is the most careless he has ever seen her with it) and she rests her cheek on her closed hand, elbow propped on the sofa's arm.

Her finger twitches against the keyboard. The quiet _click_ of her fingernail scratching the plastic resonates in the silence.

Tony pushes off from the wall. "Lights up."

The house hums. Jarvis says: "I do believe Miss Potts--"

"Lights up, Jarvis."

"As you say," he murmurs.

The lights rise as Tony pads across the floor, his bare feet slapping the polished stone in a lazy rhythm. He scrubs his hair twice and drops the towel on the chair nearest to him. The room is cool on his damp skin. So close to Pepper, he can pick out the trail of goosebumps on her wrists and the lonely, wandering freckles spattered along her forearms. He hefts the laptop up and sets it aside, abandoning it on the coffee table alongside her half-empty mug of - coffee? Cocoa? He sniffs the air once, but smells nothing. Tea, long cold.

"How long has she been sleeping?"

"An hour, sir," says Jarvis. He adds: "And thirty-two minutes and nine seconds, to be precise. Twelve seconds. Thirteen. Shall I continue?"

"Don't push yourself."

"Oh, thank you, sir."

So he'd passed Pepper on his way from the lab to the shower. Tony crouches beside her. There are two dark shadows under her eyes. A small crease at the corner of her mouth twists upward and an equally curious line at the corner of her eye tilts down. He touches the corner of her mouth. He wonders when this happened.

Pepper's mouth opens, just so, beneath his thumb. He withdraws his hand. She sighs once and the sound is deep and soft and wholly surprising to him. Perhaps she dreams. Perhaps it's the chill.

Tony cups her shoulder. "Hey," he says, shaking her shoulder. "Briar Rose. Up on your feet. People're going to talk if you keep crashing here. Well, Jarvis will talk. But I can tell him not to." He brushes the hair from her forehead. "Hey, Potts. This is your boss speaking."

Pepper stirs, and starts, and turns to him, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Her face is very close to his. Her eyes are very blue, her eyelashes very red, the skin beneath her eyes bruised. Her breath on his damp cheek is warming. If he were of such an inclination, he could count the freckles on her cheeks. The whorl near her ear. The long line that wanders along her jaw and down her throat. He leans back.

Pepper rubs at her forehead with the back of her hand. "Tony?" she says. "What time is it? Oh!" She leans up. Her shoulder presses against his arm. "Oh, geez, what time _is_ it? I'm so sorry, did I...?"

"Don't worry," he says. "You got a little--" He taps his finger against his mouth. "--on the leather, but it's not too bad. I can have it repaired. Buy another. Invest in a laminated covering. I'm more concerned about you. Do that often? With the drooling."

She touches her mouth, her fingers obscuring the slight crease there in the corner. Her eyebrows wrinkle. "That isn't funny," she says.

"That's a ridiculous statement, Potts, and one I hope never to hear again. It's two in the morning. Everything's funny at two in the morning."

She yawns. "If you say so."

Tony stands. The floor is cold under his feet. He curls his toes. "I do say so, so it works out for both of us."

He offers his hand and Pepper accepts. Her hand is warm, her fingers trembling in the way fingers tremble in the slow, dazed aftermath of a restless sleep. She covers her mouth and yawns again, nearly deep enough for a sigh. "Oh -- oh, thank you, Tony," she says, as he fetches her shoes from the far end of the table.

He presents her heels with a flourish. "Think nothing of it, Miss Potts," he says.

She doesn't.

* * *

This story was originally posted to livejournal on 05/18/2008.


	13. With a Little Luck

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: **With a Little Luck** was written for lj user **backporchpoet **for the given prompt of _staircase_ (location), _crisp_ (sensation), and _violet_ (color). Futurefic.

Haha, wow, I can't believe I never crossposted this! Um. I wrote this way back in 2008 (on May 20, 2008, to be precise) and for whatever ridiculous reason I just never got around to posting it on FFN. So, a little old, but hopefully it's still good.

* * *

**With a Little Luck**

**

* * *

**

Pepper looked up from the cards just in time to see Tony rushing for the stairs in a state of fully clothed disarray. "Thank you, Carrie," she said, quickly shuffling the cards back into some semblance of order. "These are very good."

Carrie looked pleased, her cheeks reddening under the cascade of dark curls framing her face. "Do you really think so, ma'am? Leslie wasn't sure-"

"Then tell Leslie they're very good, and if she has any questions, she needs to speak with me," said Pepper. "Would you excuse me? I need to-"

"Oh, yes!" said Carrie. She held up her hands, palms out. "I mean, yes, I understand, of course."

Pepper caught up with Tony on the second curve of the spiral staircase. He didn't look up. "How's the new assistant?" he said to his tie, fumbling with the knot.

"Very smart," she said, "but not very confident."

"She'll learn." He slipped to the side to let Pepper in beside him. "Cards?"

She passed them on. "Violet?" she said.

Tony blinked at her, then glanced down at his tie. "I prefer 'burgundy.'"

"Then wear burgundy."

"What's with the fashion drill? Did I miss something?"

Pepper tapped the card before him. "Remember, you need to address the security measures at-"

"-the arc plant, yes, yes, I know, I know what to say-"

"And please don't improvise, Tony, I mean it."

Tony stopped on the last step, swinging around on his heel to face her. Light from the window at his back sank into the black of his jacket. "I'm not a child, Pepper. I have read statements before. I can do this."

"Yes, you can," she agreed. "Hold still, you have a little-"

She wiped at his cheek, then granted him a quick look at the ketchup smeared on her thumb.

"What would I do without you?" said Tony. "Aside from the obvious humiliating myself in front of a very large group of photographers with very good cameras."

Pepper sucked her thumb clean. "I'd rather not think about that," she confessed.

"Right, you're right, that's negative thinking. Banishing it now." He ran his fingers through his hair, then flashed his hands out, as though he were dragging the very thought from his head. "And ... gone," he said. His hands dropped to his collar.

"Let me," she said.

He hitched his chin up and Pepper reached for his tie, tightening the knot, straightening the folds, gently guiding it from grace to elegance.

Pepper aligned the tails and judging her work acceptable, she brushed his shoulders clean. She fixed him with the sternest of her many and varied stern gazes, each of them known to him and equally effective. "Repeat after me," she said. "'I will not be taking any questions at this time.'"

With an air of unassuming majesty, Tony gazed in the general direction of the ceiling. The light from the window ran silver through his hair, lighting the wings at his temples and bringing attention at last to the slight and lonesome hairs cropping up near his crown. Pepper raised her eyebrows.

After a moment, he looked round in an exaggerated mimicry of surprise. "Oh. You were talking to me?"

"Funny, that," she said, "what with you being the only other person in here."

"I just wasn't sure. It's entirely within the realm of possibility that you were-"

Pepper straightened his lapels.

"No questions," he said. "Got it. Read the statement, get lunch, come home. If you straighten my suit any more, I'm not going to be able to bend my arms. How do I look?"

Pepper patted his breast and leaned back, eyeing him critically. "Old," she told him at last, "but dignified. Please don't wrinkle your tie."

"Honesty becomes you," said Tony, "but flattery will get you nowhere."

She smiled down upon him, at the silver in his hair and the light on his face. "Will there be anything else?"

"Tell me something about my eyes."

"They're rheumy and grey," she said, "and you need to start wearing glasses."

"Don't stop," he told her. "You're turning me on."

"Not in front of the reporters, I hope."

"No need for panic, Mrs Stark," he said, straightening his shoulders in the manner of a man prepared to brave the darkest of storms. "When the passion threatens to overwhelm me, I'll just think about your bony knees poking me in the ribs. Problem solved."

"Once again you've saved the day, Mr Stark," she said quite seriously.

Tony stepped up, pressing a warm, dry kiss to the peaking corner of her mouth. "Wish me luck," he said.

Pepper brushed her fingers through his hair.

"Luck," she said.

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/20/2008.


	14. The Necessity of Open Communication

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Iron Man_ or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. Obviously.

Author's Notes: Unrelated to the flashfic requests, lj user **lazaefair **requested "post-movie, the third time Tony and Pepper got into some awkwardly romantic tension and didn't resolve it." I wrote this waaaay back in May 2009, so keep that in mind.

And with this story, I can finally mark this collection as complete. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented on, and/or favorited these stories over the last couple years. Thank you. :)

* * *

**The Necessity of Open Communication**

**

* * *

**

The line connected in the stairwell between the ninth and tenth floors. Outside the broad windows the sun was setting, blazing like a dying fire on the horizon over the city. Pepper cupped a hand over her mouth and turned to face the window.

"Yes, hello, are you there?" said Tony, his voice faded in the sound of rushing wind. The suit, of course. "Speak up, Miss Potts, I'm a busy man with things to do."

Pepper spoke as quietly as she could manage without sacrificing lucidity. "Tony, you can't just abandon board meetings like that; half the majority stockholders are up in arms. Where _are_ you?"

He dodged the question with practiced grace. "Is that concern I hear?" he said. "Concern, perhaps, for your dear old boss?"

"Concern for your stockholders, maybe," she said. Pepper shifted, resting her shoulder against the window. The glass was cool, cool even through her sleeve; winter had borne down on Los Angeles with uncharacteristic severity. Very softly she said, "You shouldn't charge off like that, you know. Not without telling someone. Half the time no one knows where you've been until the evening news rolls out."

"You're right, I'm sorry, how thoughtless of me. I'll be sure to run my schedule by the next supervillain who decides to point a death ray at the Empire State Building."

The sun was sinking faster now, the inferno slipping away beneath the city line. The glass windows of the surrounding buildings caught and reflected the passing light: red here, orange there, a myriad of heated colors fading into blue.

"That's not what this is about," she said at last.

"Missing me already?" said Tony.

"Tony," said Pepper.

The line was silent. The sun slipped lower.

"Right, sorry," he said; and he meant it this time. "The old guys that mad?"

She smiled reflexively. "Not that mad," she said. "A little grumpy."

"And yet, you with the panicking," he said. A dull roar blasted through the connection before she could mount a decent defense of herself, and Pepper held the phone from her ear, wincing slightly.

"On my way home," said Tony over the roar. "Keep the porchlight on."

* * *

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/06/2009.


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